Human Interest
by Lou Serbio
Summary: The secret behind TJ's betrayal revealed, Street and Sanchez try to take their relationship to the next level, Boxer heals from his gunshot wound. Author's note: Story is heaviest on Street/Sanchez. Read & review.
1. Sunday Afternoon

Thirty days had passed since international crime lord Alex Montel unleashed his monetary venom on the already earthquake prone streets of Los Angeles, California. Funerals for excellent police officers were held. Tears were shed. Lives were either destroyed, completely transformed, or both; all in the span of a couple of days, and all for the sake of a murderer's tainted dollars.  
  
Those so prominently affected by the tragedies and chaos of that day were the members of Sergeant "Hondo" Harrison's S.W.A.T. unit. Two of his best were scarred for life, but one committed suicide for no good reason. Hondo pondered that the entire week following the Montel Fiasco, as the newspapers have labeled the day.  
  
On Sunday, September 5, 2003, Hondo in civilian clothes sat behind his precinct desk on his day off. Captain Thomas Fuller, also in street clothes, darted in carrying a 6" thick case file.  
  
"Captain Fuller," Hondo harshly greeted him, "why are you siphoning my tee time on this beautiful afternoon."  
  
"For your information, Hondo, it's my tee time as well," Fuller shot back, and displayed the file as if it was the Liberty Torch. "But I determined it was important for you to read this as soon as possible."  
  
"That is.?" Hondo asked.  
  
"Apparently, the detectives overlooking McCabe's suicide had little trouble with their investigation," the burly Captain Fuller noted. "This is everything they found. And oh, this is for you, me, and the walls."  
  
As Fuller rapidly departed the office, Hondo opened the folder and scanned the paperwork. Hondo's memory of T.J.'s cranium being ventilated by his own bullet lingered. But the back-story of T.J., who sacrificed a law enforcement career and ended his own life, was soon to be revealed.  
  
"Holy fucking shit," Hondo exclaimed while staring in disbelief at the file contents. T.J. owed $950,000 in gambling debts to bookies, Mafia, and other shady individuals associated with illegal gambling. Football, hockey, baseball, the horses, even jai Alai were among the many sports that he bet on, and lost. It was no small wonder that even after Gamble divided up the $100 million bounty among his crew, T.J. would break even and have enough left to high tail it overseas.  
  
Hondo exhaled upon reading, and slumped back into his swivel chair. The piteous expression on his rugged face would coerce any fellow officer walking by ask what was wrong. What could he possibly answer? No one should know why, anyway. Only a select few officers and officials were aware that T.J. killed himself. The LAPD made sure of that, having covered up his indiscretion as if he died in the line of duty. It was a massive cover, but the positive spin made it to the press and media, and that satisfied the brass.  
  
But it mattered excessively to Hondo. T.J. earned his trust but he suddenly could not be trusted. T.J. risked the lives of innocent civilians and officers simply to attain his own safety. T.J. was a bad seed in a S.W.A.T. team that was not supposed to err. And now T.J. was a ghost in Hondo's world.  
  
Hondo had seen enough ghosts in his time since he was a rookie. As of this moment, his inner strength kicked in, and felt obligated to never make the same misjudgment again. He snapped to, and fervently searched his desktop.  
  
"Now where the hell is the character file for that veggie-dog-wheat-bread- eating-Dudley-Do-right?" he muttered. Finally, he found what he was looking for. "Officer David Burns. Well, Dave, you and I are gonna have another little chat real soon."  
  
The same afternoon, Officer Michael Boxer laid in L.A. County Medical in his final recovery days from his gunshot neck wound. The early diagnosis was excellent: no nerve damage and he would be able to return to active duty. His wound continued to be sore from surgery, and he was not permitted too much movement. Still he remained strong for his wife Elise, his little girl and boy, and sister Lara. Boxer was brave and cheerful every time they visited him while he was in ICU and after, unable to defend the city with his team because of this meaningless injury.  
  
Boxer was struggling to consume a white bread cheese sandwich and milk for lunch. God, this has been horrible, he thought. His wife's cooking wasn't Emeril-level, but it sure was preferable to the flavorless mush he'd been consuming his whole long stay. Suddenly, he had a light at the end of this digestive tunnel, when his younger sister Lara peeked through the door and held up a bag full of Burger King.  
  
"Good afternoon, big brother," the slender brunette cheerfully greeted him.  
  
"What's up, sis? Hey, is that actual food with actual flavor?" he asked, and tossed away the white bread and one cheese slice. "You are an angel from heaven!"  
  
"Actually, more like a bird of prey, but thanks. You have been whining about the hospital food since you woke up," Lara couldn't help but giggle at his anxious reaction to fast food as she walked towards his bed and handed it over. "I figured you deserved a break today."  
  
"That was a McDonald's slogan." Boxer dove into the bag, removed the Whopper and fries and took a hearty bite from the sandwich. The look of ecstasy on his face would scare most children. "This is the greatest thing I've tasted since before and after they'd let me eat solid food again. Thank you."  
  
"No problem. So, how are we feeling today?"  
  
"Really itchy and still a bit sore," he admitted. "I sure hope I hadn't gotten addicted to the morphine."  
  
"I trust that you haven't."  
  
"Well, we'll see. So." he began as he dipped the greasy, salty fries into the ketchup, "have you and Jim spoken at all lately?'  
  
"We're just talking as friends." she said, rolling her eyes. "You keep asking me the same question each time I see you. What's the big deal?"  
  
"Look, I didn't really like the fact that Jim was dating you, sis," he said most calmingly, and napkin-cleaned the extra ketchup off his mouth. "But he still is a good man and a friend, and I've seen some of the pricks you dated since you two split."  
  
"Mikey, you saw one guy, and I haven't seen him or anyone else since you got hurt," she said with a kind smile. "My God, you were shot, for the first time in your career. You could have died and you're still overly concerned about me. I love you for being protective, but I'm a big girl, have been for eleven years. You can dial it back a lot, and you should focus that energy more on you, Elise, Tessie and Michael Jr."  
  
Lara was a virtuous, charitable young woman, and his only sibling. She worked with mentally impaired children and was useful to society. It was one of the reasons Boxer cared as much as he does, but she was so right. The words that Lara spoke were more inspirational than he had ever expected, reminding him that he has two beautiful, loving kids who needed a father. He stared at the partially eaten sandwich for a moment and then grinned at her.  
  
"Look's like the shoe is on the other foot here," he declared. "Who would have thought, you protecting me?"  
  
"Yeah, go figure," she agreed. "Eat your damn Whopper you knucklehead."  
  
Simple strolls on the beach don't happen everyday for Officer Jim Street. Usually it's a morning run with his dog Arnie, with Jim's subsequent vomiting due to the intensity of the exercise. But on a beautiful afternoon like this one, it helped to have human company. Officer Christina Sanchez provided that company. It was comforting for Jim to have it, too. Every day since McCabe's funeral, Hondo's team has had to pitch in and clean up the mess leftover from Montel's wrath. Every day Jim and Chris worked together, hoping for a third chance after her daughter's birthday party was interrupted . Today, after almost a month of hard work and underlying heartache, it happened.  
  
The star that Earthlings call the Sun shone steadily on Redondo Beach. Jim and Chris were clad in shorts and A-shirts. They both had agreed to meet at the beach, for she had some errands to run early in the day. Upon meeting, they hugged, said their hellos but the conversation had not immediately begun. They were neither uneasy, nor inhibited, nor tongue- tied. For these two young police officers, their topics varied so much that they had to pinpoint where to start. The stroll went on for a few more minutes before Chris flashed a smile that Jim had not been blessed to witness since the night their team hung out at Deke's father's restaurant.  
  
"What," he inquired of the smile.  
  
"Damn, you're one pale white boy," she joked.  
  
"Yeah, this is true," he agreed, and laughed while staring at his forearms. "We Irishmen aren't notorious for our radiant tans."  
  
She was genuinely interested. "Never heard of an Irish surname like yours, Jimmy."  
  
"Well it was O'Street, but I changed it to piss off my parents," he quipped. She laughed, and he was delighted to hear that "Just kidding."  
  
Again, a few comfortable moments of silence passed until Chris spoke.  
  
"So, speaking of your parents, what's their opinion of your current career," she asked.  
  
"They're always extremely concerned. They seem to want to bring that to my attention every Thanksgiving that I.am their only child." Jim had momentarily halted their stroll, and then faced her. "Dad's a retired officer, thirty-five years on the force here in L.A. So Mom's mega- sensitive since I chose his former business."  
  
"Seems like she had to worry about her husband not coming home all those years, now has to feel same way about her son."  
  
He nodded. "She's a strong woman, always was," he declared as they resumed strolling, "and she makes a damn fine corned beef and cabbage!"  
  
Chris had no clue as to why that comment was funny, but she laughed out loud anyway. The young woman sensed that he was pleasant company since the day he joined her for a drink after their training. She never expected him to make her feel so at ease. After a bout of laughter, she took on a more serious tone, and assumed to Jim, "I'm sure you worried as much as she did."  
  
"It was frightening for a while until I realized police work is exactly what I wanted to do," he declared. "What about you? How did you get here?"  
  
She'd always been picky about telling anyone her personal business, but she felt so right with Street that her privacy was not pertinent at the moment. "We should sit."  
  
"Sure," he agreed. They both sat on a towel that they carried along. She sat with her legs crossed facing him, and he faced her. Her mouth opened but for a few seconds, words never came out.  
  
"I was 16 years of age, dating someone named Carlos," she began, "This guy was a tall, dark, handsome Puerto Rican, but he was also 25. Well, about three months into our relationship, he got me pregnant, and then typically left me. After I told my mother that she was going to be a grandmother, she called the police on him and he was arrested for statutory rape. But it turns out that he had an uncle who worked for the force, so he was never charged."  
  
Street sat and attentively listened to this totally unexpected account of her life. He had no idea.  
  
"So I had my Eliza," she continued, "but I stayed in school, studied, and worked plenty of odd jobs here and there to keep my baby girl fed and in warm clothes. I struggled like most teenage moms then I finally realized what I needed to do, kind of like how you felt. But my motivation was the whole shit that went down with Carlos. I wanted to bring more.honesty to the force. Does that sound corny?"  
  
"No, not at all," Jim answered.  
  
"I signed on to the Academy, and never looked back," she said. "I'm a better woman and a better mother since."  
  
Jim smiled widely, and Chris appreciated that sight.  
  
"I have no doubt that your daughter is proud of you," he assured her. "And for what it's worth, I'm proud of you."  
  
"Hearing you say that, is.well, sensational," Chris Sanchez responded, with subtle fascination. Having just received this unprovoked, unsolicited compliment from Jim, for the first time in her life, she felt shy around the opposite sex. But her mood suddenly shifts due to an unpleasant memory. "But I was shot on my first day of S.W.A.T. I got careless, and Eliza almost lost her mommy on her eighth birthday. Where would both of your pride have been focused then, Jim?"  
  
"No Chris, you're being way too hard on yourself. You weren't careless," Jim said with steadfastness, and leaned towards her. "You had your vest on, that was not careless. You were doing your job just like all of us were that day, and every day since.  
  
Chris couldn't find any more words. At first Jim seemed to her like a cute thug that she could flirt with, maybe just sleep with. But she sensed something more in him, which is why she invited him to her only child's birthday party. It turns out her instincts were dead on, for she found him to be intelligent, deferential, and yes, a bit thuggish, but in a harmless way.  
  
In an out of character move, Chris leaned forward and planted a first-kiss level kiss on Jim Street's lips. It was not lengthy, not too wet and very pleasurable for both involved. Chris couldn't even remember the last guy she kissed, especially as spontaneously as she did for him. Jim hadn't kissed anyone since Lara. The difference between this kiss and his last was that Chris is someone who relates.  
  
"Uh, wow," Jim exclaimed. "That was nice."  
  
"You'd better come up with a better adjective than 'nice,' Jim O'Street," she mock-retorted, with a likewise mock-sneer.  
  
"I'll have to get my thesaurus," he answered.  
  
"So." She was speechless again with the notion of having never dated, much less kissed a male co-worker. Jim felt the same way.  
  
"That was quite a hurdle, for both of us, wasn't it?" Jim calmly said.  
  
She nodded with his favorite smile. They both stood up, taking the towel with them. Then suddenly, both of them took the initiative and embraced to kiss. This time it was longer, deeper, more sensual, and much more personal. Jim and Chris released all those months of tension into this current moment. The seagulls cried, and the ocean crashed into the beach with fervor, and as far as they were concerned, the only two on the sunny, breezy beach were James Street and Christina Sanchez. 


	2. New Found

LA, SWAT H.Q., the exact same classroom where a over a month prior to today, Sgt. Hondo Harrison and his new team were lectured and trained to be the most resilient 911 answer in the vast city. The gruff, hard-nosed Sergeant was reluctant to trust anyone new since he ascertained knowledge of the late Officer T.J. McCabe's gambling indiscretion. Then he recalled an interview he conducted alongside Officer Jim Street. It was with a young, but seasoned officer who had not only a questionably immaculate performance record but also questionably nutritional eating regime.  
  
Officer David Burns, a tall, chiseled, yet stiff as a board man sat at the first desk in the classroom. He received a personal phone call from Hondo the previous day to report to SWAT H.Q. for a follow-up interview. Burns was ecstatic at the thought but kept his composure, and then called his wife to tell her the news. Today, his uniform was pressed and starched. His badge was glistening due to excessive polishing. His shoes were shined to the max. A notepad and pencils were neatly arranged and ready to be utilized.  
  
Sergeant Dan "Hondo" Harrison, wearing his training gear, suddenly stormed into the room, not even glancing at Burns. David darted to attention.  
  
"Officer David Burns reporting for duty, Sergeant," he said with alacrity.  
  
"Sit down," Hondo barked, still not looking at him. David immediately sat, for Hondo's voice gave him a spine-chill that he had never felt on the job.  
  
The Sergeant tossed onto his desk his duffel bag and small paper bag. After two minutes of not speaking, he sat at the end of his desk to face this man.  
  
"I take it you're aware I recently lost a member of my S.W.A.T. unit," he began.  
  
"Yes, firmly aware," he answered without the superhero-like inflection he was known for at his precinct.  
  
"I've the daunting task of searching for a fitting replacement for one of my best officers," Hondo said. "I hate this and I don't wish to do it. But still, my team is incomplete."  
  
"I understand," David said.  
  
"No, you don't, Dave. You haven't a single clue. Now, as you recall, I interviewed you for a position on my team a while ago. What you're unaware of was the reason I crossed your name off my list," he said, with microscopic regret. "It was my inability to trust someone who wouldn't eat a hot dog."  
  
Burns was visibly surprised, but not angered. Hondo couldn't believe his own words, and was truly embarrassed to say them.  
  
"Permission to speak freely, Sergeant," he requested.  
  
"This ain't the Army, Dave," Hondo said after he rolled his eyes.  
  
"I was perfectly willing and able to aid this city as a member of your team, and you tossed me aside because I prefer not to consume a meat by- product?"  
  
Hondo was amazed at what David Burns asked and how he spoke. This audacity was a character trait he ached to hear at that previous sidewalk interview. Ironically, David was also correct. Hondo had to acknowledge it.  
  
"It was an offhanded remark to Officer Street, whom you've met. It was inappropriate to dismiss you in such a manner," Hondo surprisingly said. "So for that, I apologize."  
  
"Accepted. Then why have you called me here today," he asked.  
  
"You do have a spotless performance record with no complaints registered against you, and you've done well at shooting drills," he listed. "I could use someone with your integrity and skill to fill the void of my team."  
  
"I appreciate that, Sergeant," he said.  
  
"There is one thing I must know about you, and it is crucial that you answer honestly," Hondo said. "Do you gamble?"  
  
"Uh, no, I don't," he responded.  
  
"Not even a little bit? A few slot machines in Vegas? A nickel and dime poker game with your buddies?" Hondo desperately searched for a loophole in his career.  
  
David was a tad disconcerted by these questions, but answered, "No, I just bowl in the precinct league and most of the time stay at home with my wife to watch old movies."  
  
The Sergeant took the word of this squeaky clean, tailored officer. He was too good to be true, but at least Hondo was not about to see another T.J. McCabe or Brian Gamble. He would still need to keep a third eye on David, but at least that eye can wander from time to time.  
  
"You're hired," he declared, and walked over to him to shake hands.  
  
"Oh wow, thank you Sergeant!" The beaming officer answered joyously.  
  
"Call me Hondo, and there's something I have for you," he said, reaching for the paper bag. Hondo removed an object wrapped in aluminum foil and placed it in front of the officer.  
  
"What's this?" He asked.  
  
"Your initiation. My team enjoys the finer things in life," he said while Burns slowly pried open the foil.  
  
David stared in shock at what he saw within the aluminum foil: a juicy beef hot dog on a bun with all of the traditional trimmings. "Sergeant---I mean, Hondo, I think I told you, I'm a veg--"  
  
"You will be required to join us in extracurricular activities, such as sitting in a bar drinking cold beers and eating the kinds of food that used to walk around."  
  
"But-"he stammered, and stared at the frankfurter.  
  
"It's getting cold, Dave," he said. "If you need incentive, sauerkraut and onions are on it."  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Fortune shone upon Officer Christina Sanchez on this lovely Friday evening: she found a babysitter, and has a date with a man she actually likes. For over an hour Chris was trying on multiple outfits in front of her eight year-old daughter Eliza, who loved every single one. Finally, the young officer had settled on an uncharacteristic tight black dress that displayed a little cleavage and augmented her stunning curves. Within the Sanchez domicile, the buzzer to their door rang.  
  
"Ay Dios mio," Chris exclaimed. "Rosa? Please answer that for me!"  
  
Rosa, a middle-aged Puerto Rican woman, was Chris' aunt and the babysitter for tonight. She ceased preparing Eliza's dinner for a moment to walk the hall to the front door. Upon opening, Officer Jim Street stood at the door with a small bouquet of Pumpkin Orange roses. Rosa was impressed by his suit jacket and well pressed slacks, even more so that he shaved.  
  
"Hi Rosa," Jim greeted her with a smile.  
  
"Hello Jim," she returned. "C'mon in, Chris is still upstairs."  
  
He entered and Eliza was already halfway down the hall to see him. "Hi, Jim" she said cheerily.  
  
"Hello, princess, did you have a good day at school today?" It was a genuine, but standard question. He knows Eliza liked him, but he doesn't know enough about children to handle that aspect.  
  
"It's school, I can't say it was good," she quipped.  
  
"Guess not. Where's your mom?"  
  
"Upstairs, she's been trying all afternoon to look pretty for-" she teased, before Rosa stepped in.  
  
"Go inside and finish your homework, Eliza," Rosa said. "And then wash up for dinner."  
  
No sooner than Eliza left the foyer, did the striking Chris appear at the top of the stairs. Jim Street was never one to faint, but at this sight he had to maintain composure. He was so accustomed to seeing her in her work gear, or in jeans, or in basically nothing like he saw this very moment. Aunt Rosa left the moment she saw them lock eyes.  
  
"Chris," he stammered, and very rarely had he done that in front of a woman. He never even did that for his ex, Lara.  
  
"I look awful don't I," she bent the words in disappointment and self- consciously descended the stairs.  
  
"God, no! You're a sight for the sorest of eyes," Jim assured her. "I'm just in awe."  
  
They met at the bottom and kissed. It was about the same kind of kiss as their first one on the beach.  
  
"Y'know, after our recent shifts, I never thought we'd be able to pull this off," she said, with a tone of happiness. Hondo's team had to contend with sixteen hostage crises in three days, but Jim asked her to dinner at the first one.  
  
"Same here," he said, then gestured to her outerwear. "Eliza had mentioned this overtime you put in."  
  
Sanchez grinned and gently rubbed her hand over her face. "She did?"  
  
"Yeah, and I thank you for it," he assured her.  
  
"You're worth it," she purred, staring directly into his blue eyes. She took the roses from his hands and said, "These are so beautiful. I'll put them in water and then we'll go."  
  
Chris departed the hallway and Jim confidently remained. This was going to be a memorable evening, although he had no idea what to expect. Their working together was the ink pen. Their time after Deke's restaurant was the writer's block. That stroll on the beach between them was the first sentence. The kiss was the period. This date was not only another move towards a relationship that their stressful career of law enforcement may harm, but also could be the signature of the letter. 


	3. To Live and Date in LA

In 2003, three hundred million people populated the United States, the state of California took a chunk of nearly forty million off that amount, and its city of Los Angeles was home to almost ten million persons of all races, creeds and colors. On a crisp, cool second Friday evening of November, there were two important and relevant servants to those people, Officers Christina Sanchez and Jim Street, on a date and totally having fun.  
  
Not to say they ignored their environment: Officer Michael Boxer was almost ready to return to the team; Sgt. "Hondo" Harrison finally found a permanent replacement for the late T.J. McCabe. Their S.W.A.T. unit also had sixteen hostage crises in three recent days. However, for Jim and Chris this date was indeed an escape where they could finally open up to each other without a civilian needing to be immediately protected.  
  
It was a first date, but they did not wish it to be like their first drink at the bar and clash with a soon-to-be-evil-former-partner. So they ate at a reasonably classy restaurant that was not only one that Chris' family recommended, but also one that was commensurate with their salaries. During and after the main courses, Chris was with Jim in this atmospheric restaurant for two and one half hours lively conversing, with miniscule mention of work, and much drinking of red wine.  
  
Jim was recounting a childhood story. "So I hobbled into the candy store crying, almost completely drenched in mud. My dad smiled at me and hugged me anyway even though I was going to get his uniform dirty."  
  
"Well what did he do next?" Chris asked, and sipped her wine.  
  
"He simply strolled up to the kids who pushed me and that scared the shit out of them," Jim laughed.  
  
"God, your Dad sounded great," she complimented.  
  
"I hope you'll get a chance to meet him soon."  
  
Chris truly desired a serious relationship with Jim, but she did not wish to unshackle any interest he had in her by displaying paranoia about the words "I hope." The entire conversation had been positive, but she couldn't help but be concerned if it was Jim's first hint of doubt.  
  
"I would love to meet Mr. Street," she generalized.  
  
"Not to dredge up old relationships on a first date," Jim prefaced, "but I expect he'd like you a hell of a lot more than my previous girlfriend."  
  
"Because I'm a cop like you?" She guessed, having the knowledge of his father's background.  
  
"That would factor in excessively," he said, taking a swallow of his red wine. "But it's also because you're a mom."  
  
She chuckled, out of amusement and a little confusion. "I've been following you all night up until you said that, handsome."  
  
"My being an only-child cop in and out of relationships inadvertently augmented his desire to have grandkids," he explained.  
  
"So he wouldn't like me for me," she said with mild discontent.  
  
"Untrue," he assured her. "My parents are naturally cordial people. But who you are, a mother and a cop, is a bonus to Dad."  
  
"I can accept that," she said, and took in a larger gulp of wine. "Would you ever want to meet my parents?"  
  
Jim was taken slightly aback by her question. He would not be offensive as to say no to ever wanting to meet them. He liked everything about her and wondered why she didn't sense it.  
  
"Chris Sanchez, for crying out loud, I would be honored to meet them," he said, staring directly into her brown eyes. "Do you want to know why?"  
  
"Of course I do." Chris leaned forward and rubbed the rim of her wine glass with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes never wavered from his chiseled features. She was attracted, long before the alcohol heightened that emotion.  
  
"They brought you into this world. They raised you to be the strong woman I've respected, admired and adored during these last few months. I'm having a wonderful, memorable evening with you Chris, 'cause you're so beautiful, so smart. I would express my gratitude to those two people who largely made that possible," he said, but realized it was not exactly the best compliment to her folks, and then he retracted. "Shit, that sounded far too selfish. I'm sorry."  
  
The raven-haired Chris indeed did not find his comments to be self- centered. Sure, they were largely due to his over-two-hour-wine- consumption-fest, but everything had a context, and she read it the way Jim intended.  
  
"O'Street, anyone who kisses like you do is hardly selfish." It was such a slight sequitur, as her wine intake equaled his. "Don't worry about what you said, my folks would love you, too."  
  
"Thanks," was his brief but sincere answer.  
  
Neither of them was inebriated enough to lose sight of their rekindled attraction. For the first time since dinner, Jim and Chris ceased speaking as their hands stealthily grasped over the table. The restaurant was not crowded. There were no other eyes watching their moment except the waiters and busboys who have seen similar interactions and backed off.  
  
"What're you thinking, Jim," she began a new topic.  
  
"How you contradict our rugged line of work with this incredibly smooth skin of yours," he sincerely answered in a deep Barry White-like voice. She was out-and-out flattered.  
  
"I may be able to whip some ass in the field," she joked. "But I also know how to moisturize."  
  
Jim didn't laugh too heartily, for even a tough-as-nails Navy SEAL like him realized this moment was too perfect to interrupt. There was this gorgeous and intelligent woman who sat across from him. He stroked her silky hands, and she was not pulling away. He's had moments of hand touching with the women whom he's dated. But none of them, not even Lara, was as affectionate. Chris Sanchez was light years ahead of all of them in more ways than anyone could possibly comprehend.  
  
"You're awesome," he redirected the conversation this time. "I can't expand my vocabulary enough for you, that's how so damn awesome you are."  
  
"In that case, whatever happened to finding that thesaurus of yours for me," she sexily whispered. It did not sound like the quip it was.  
  
Their hands squeezed ever so slightly. The second, longer kiss on the beach was simply a primer of what could be. But ironically, this reaction was more intimate.  
  
"I like where this is going, papi chulo'," Chris said. She saw and met her share of players and dogs. Jim Street certainly had those tendencies, but they never resurfaced after their first night out. She was attracted to him, and that was all that mattered. It was difficult for her to become infatuated with a man since her first gave her third degree mental burns. Jim beat those odds.  
  
"So do I, lass," he agreed. Jim went into this date, this potential signature to the relationship, unaware of what would happen. Now as the night progressed, he foresaw a positive future. He gestured to the waiter for the check.  
  
"How about a nightcap," she said.  
  
"Okay," he answered.  
  
The check arrived and was paid. They left arm-in-arm, and felt more comfortable with each other than ever, whether on the job or not.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
There are dozens of dating shows on broadcast and basic cable television for the American masses to view and enjoy. Chris Sanchez knew about these shows, mostly because her two older, married sisters continually failed to coax her to be on them. Almost every day they teased, nagged, and said such things as, "You should get on 'Blind Date!' or "On 'Shipmates' you meet a hot guy and go on a cruise at the same time!" But Chris wasn't having that.  
  
There was one thing that Chris learned from watching some of these shows with her sisters, and that after dinner either the couple shared drinks or sat in a hot tub. Jim Street had agreed to this fiery Latina's invite to the nightcap, and in the taxi, she was thinking it over while resting in the crook of his shoulder.  
  
"What time is it," she asked, still a little tipsy.  
  
"It's early, about five past eleven," Street announced after glancing at his watch.  
  
"Looks like we have some time to kill," Sanchez said, lifting her head from his shoulder and staring into his eyes.  
  
"What do you suggest we do," he asked.  
  
"We're already alcohol-ed up," she noted. "How about we risk drowning and go to a hot tub."  
  
"I forgot my swimsuit," he said, tongue firmly in cheek.  
  
"Dial it back, handsome," she enjoyed what he said, and how he said it, but still had to keep him in check. "We can buy a couple on the way."  
  
Twenty minutes and a quick Marshalls stop later, they patronized a lovely establishment where private Jacuzzis with cave-like surroundings are available. Jim, in his swim trunks, had immersed himself into the bubbling, gushing container of water. The therapeutic nature of this had not gone unnoticed, for he and his team had worked so vigorously recently. He went in neck high, sat for a moment, closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth.  
  
"Don't you dare fall asleep on me," Chris said through a smile.  
  
He opened his eyes to see her poised on the small stairway leading to the hot tub. He made a mental note to thank Marshalls for his view, for she was clad in a black bikini that complimented her stunningly perfect physique. He hadn't seen a single ounce of fat on her, and was nearly flawless, save for healed scars from her hazardous time as a beat cop. He found those to be very sexy, highlighting her dangerous side. Jim also loved seeing her hair up, except while it was hidden under her helmet at work.  
  
"Sweet Baby Jesus," Jim quietly exclaimed, his words lost in the louder rumbling of the water.  
  
Chris' graceful immersion in the water to meet Jim recalls the Lady of the Lake moving towards King Arthur. She loved showing off for him not only here, but also at work.  
  
"God, this feels soooooooooo great," she moaned, writhing ever so slightly while neck deep in the water.  
  
"This was a great idea," he said, but hated his generic response. As a result, he began to tense up despite the hot tub's positive effects.  
  
Chris couldn't help but notice that Jim was less than comfortable. But the night did not lie, and she felt that all he needed to get back into the mood was a little incentive. "You know, there's only so much that steaming hot water can do."  
  
She turned her back to him and eased between his legs. Jim knew exactly what to do and started to press his hands into her shoulders and neck.  
  
"Just relax. You're with me," she sighed out.  
  
The proverbial moment of truth had arrived for Jim.  
  
Hondo's team was at the first of what was to be sixteen hostage crises. It concerned a longtime office worker named Mick who expected a promotion and never got it. Mick chose to purchase an illegal gun and trap his immediate supervisor and several co-workers in the building's seventh floor office. Negotiations went on for a while, but the mentally unstable man would not yield.  
  
Street and Sanchez were dispatched into the building, bypassed security cameras, slipped through stairways and neared the hallway adjacent to the office of Mick and the hostages. While they awaited Hondo's word, Jim had flashes of he and Brian Gamble ignoring a hold. The difference from that point in time and where he was with Chris, was that he neither had to cover up for her nor had any underlying distrust for her.  
  
Jim asked her to dinner. Mick ranted over the phone. Chris said yes in an instant. Negotiations failed. Hondo made the advance call. Street and Sanchez blew kisses at each other, then stormed in and aimed their weapons at their perp. Mick buckled, dropped to the floor, and cowered. No one was hurt, and one date was made.  
  
Jim was bold enough to ask her out on the job, but ironically he was unsure of how to make the first move in this ideal situation. In the recesses of his mind, he also was aware of how men have mistreated her in her young life. Jim did not want Chris to be just another notch in his bedpost nor did he want to be another negative statistic in her social life.  
  
Jim guided her to face him, and while in the water, it was a rather easy physical manipulation. She willingly allowed him to move her, and stifled a delighted smile to remain in the moment.  
  
"Chris." he said, gently caressing her wet, stunningly beautiful face.  
  
She returned the favor and brushed her palms over his broad torso. "Jim."  
  
Jim Street leaned in as if there were no water to resist, and brought his lips to hers, locking the two of them in an extensive, steamy kiss. Chris Sanchez tucked herself into his rock hard abdomen, wrapped her strong legs around his waist and deeply kissed back.  
  
They ignored the bubbling fervor of the water, for during numerous minutes they were no longer aware of their surroundings. There were no disgruntled office workers, no traitorous co-workers, no murdering billionaires, no asshole Captains. This powerful kiss rivaled the previous long kiss at the beach, for it was more exciting than anything they've ever done together outside of work. If DigiBeta cameras and Keno lights were to capture this moment, and the footage aired on one of the popular dating shows, the home audience would declare these two the hottest couple in the highly populated country of America.  
  
Although they did not wish to stop after all that time, they released anyway, but remained up close and personal.  
  
"Oh, God," she said, catching her breath, and continued softly speaking. "You sure you want this?"  
  
Jim lightly rubbed his thumb across her full lips, and answered deeply but with low volume. "More than anything."  
  
"Can we make it work?" She asked the question more for her than for both of them.  
  
Ever since Jim's police academy days, a serious relationship was always prefaced by the very same question that Chris just asked. These few women were not police officers, but were wise enough to understand the ramifications of dating one. Lara was the most recent relationship that ultimately answered "no" to that query.  
  
But luckily Christina Sanchez happened to already be in the system, and one who can relate rather than simply understand. Plus, she digs him.  
  
"I think we already know the answer to that," he said.  
  
Jim and Chris kissed again, a sustained, pleasant kiss, that which she intensified by pressing her bosom into his chest. The water steamed around them, causing their hearts to beat harder than normal.  
  
This date was a success, but they had to end their romp at the spa eventually. Although they still wanted to do much more, they were in fact law enforcement officers, and could not chance being caught with their pants down. He had an itching to invite her to his place, but his maturity set in, not to mention their fatigue.  
  
The taxi ride home was quiet, peaceful, and romantic. Chris rested in his lap, exhausted from not only this week of caring for Eliza and working long shifts, but also ingesting red wine and ardently making out. Jim stroked her slightly damp hair, moving it away from her face.  
  
Close to 1AM, the new couple strolled up the walkway to her house. The night was chilly, as she had his jacket draped over her shoulders. They stopped near the front door to face each other  
  
"I'd invite you in, but." Chris said, slightly arching her neck up to face him.  
  
Jim smiled and calmly held up his palm, which silently gave her his understanding. She smiled as well, but quickly became coy by clasping his jacket closer to her body.  
  
"You okay?" He arched his eyebrow at her sudden introversion.  
  
"It's just, all night you've gone out of your way to make me feel.real again," she confessed. "It's a great thing, don't get me wrong. But I'm just not accustomed to it."  
  
"I know, Chris," Jim said, and felt no need to further add to her point.  
  
"Well, listen, rather than spoil this date by trying to describe how great it was, let me do this."  
  
Chris took a step forward, leaned up and gave him several good night kisses on the lips. They were both tired, so this was their simpler way to express affection without the intensity of the climactic kissing of their evening. Each one of these smaller kisses felt great, though.  
  
"So.good night, handsome," was her departure line.  
  
"Good night, bonita," was Jim's surprising sendoff.  
  
She giggled again, and handed him his jacket. If it were any other circumstances or man, she would have dismissed him as being full of it. But her instincts were on the money.  
  
"O'Street," she playfully pointed at him, then walked toward her house.  
  
"Please turn around, turn around, turn around," he quietly muttered to himself, and Chris, as she widened the gap between them.  
  
As if the Gods were on his side, Chris Sanchez summoned all her strength, turned around, jogged up to him, leapt into his arms and kissed him. He kissed back. It was yet another category of kiss, one that differed from the ones on the beach and the ones in the spa. Yes it was lengthy, deep, and pleasurable, but it was the thank you, the "Sincerely Yours", the very signature of the letter that is their relationship.  
  
It was a matter of time until someone had to read this letter. 


	4. Family Matters

**Friday Morning: Sanchez residence.**

Christina Sanchez was lucky she hadn't gotten too drunk last night during her date with Jim Street. Nevertheless, this morning she barely had time to prepare her daughter's lunch for school.

"I hope you don't mind PB&J for today," Chris asked Eliza with major regret. Usually she prepared something better.

"If you're running late, you don't have to go crazy with making that," she answered while she walked into the kitchen with her book bag.

"I'll be damned if you have to eat any of those school lunches, Eliza," she disagreed, as she spread jelly on the last piece of bread for the second sandwich.

"Okay, then PB&J it is," she said. Eliza was an intelligent little girl, and shifted subjects to the reason her mother got gussied-up yesterday evening. "So did you have fun with Jim last night," she asked through a smile.

As if she were hit by a time-freezing ray gun, Chris ceased wrapping the second sandwich, but then resumed after a moment. "You're going to be late for school."

"The bus isn't here yet," Eliza assured her. She stood there looking up at her mother and waited for some kind of answer.

Chris bagged the sandwiches and handed them to her. But Eliza wouldn't budge. Chris widely smiled at her, and lightly wrenched her own hands. "Jim and I had an enjoyable evening together."

"Are you going to go out with him again?" She anxiously asked.

Chris actually thought this answer through, but hardly expected the question to come from her daughter. She answered, almost to herself, "I honestly do not know."

The school bus horn honked from outside, alerting both females. Chris scooted her daughter to the front door. "All right, mija, time to leave."

"All right, I'm going, I'm going," Eliza playfully answered.

Chris kissed Eliza and sent her to the bus. She watched her little girl as she skipped toward the bus and hopped in. Every day she was a reminder of Chris' place in the world as a police officer, to protect her and others. As she gathered her own gear to leave, she remembered what day today was.

"Oh shit, the new guy," she unknowingly uttered. "God, I hope he doesn't become a scumbag like T.J. did."

**Friday Morning: Boxer residence.**

A healed Officer Michael Boxer stood inside his home foyer, having already kissed his two children good-bye and sent them off to school. He demanded to return to active, not desk jockey, duty for the first time since rogue officer Jason Gamble shot him. His wife Elise also prepared for her work. The yolked-up, bearded Boxer was content to be in the field again. He had felt useless and distressed from sitting on a hospital bed while his neck mended. He even contemplated quitting. Thankfully his family was there and encouraged and assured him that no matter what, they would always be there.

"Mike, you going to be okay today?" Elise asked as she approached him.

Boxer stared at his lovely, blonde wife while she adjusted his uniform. "It's going to be great to work with the guys again, baby."

"We already discussed your excitement about that last night," she reminded him. Then after a pause, she added, "You didn't really answer my question."

Boxer stared through the window at the sunny streets and activity. Children sprinted to school with their book-bags. Old ladies watered their lawns. His view represented a tremendous city that was denied his protection for weeks. What he needed to do for himself, his family, and his team, was protect and serve. He stared into his wife's eyes and then cradled her hands up to kiss them

"I'll be just fine," he confidently said, and leaned down and kissed her. "I'm just hoping the new guy doesn't become a scumbag like T.J. did."

He smiled at her, which she returned in favor. They opened the door and once again he stepped out into the real world.

**Friday Morning: Street residence.**

Jim Street, former NAVY Seal and two-time SWAT officer, showered and shaved this morning for work after a run on the beach with Arnie, his German Shepherd. He was on Cloud Nine after his first date with Chris Sanchez, and hummed an Irish Lullaby his mother sung to him when he was little. He slipped on his work pants when the telephone rang. He fervently searched for the phone in his cluttered apartment. Finally he found the receiver and picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello sweetie," an older woman answered on the line. It was Estelle Street, his mother.

"Mam*!" Jim answered "I'm getting ready for work, what's up?"

"Sorry Jimmy, I haven't heard from you in a while. I just called to see how you were doing," she said.

"Oh, I'm fine, Mam. Things couldn't be better," he said. "We have been kind of busy at work lately. Lots of crazy people making our job difficult. You know how it is."

"Yes, I do," Estelle sighed. "I also wanted to ask you if Lara was coming to our Thanksgiving dinner."

Thanksgiving. It was the last thing on his mind and he hardly believed it was a couple of weeks away. Lara was not even an issue anymore, but he never mentioned it to his folks.

"Lara and I broke up a while ago, Mam," He winced, having predicted his mother's reaction would not be positive.

"Oh, not again," she groaned, as if this was nothing new. "How can things be better when you haven't settled down with the right girl?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "I don't have a whole lot of time to talk about it."

"Then you'll make time, young man," Estelle said with authority.

Jim knew better than to cross his mother. With her Irish temper, she was a force to be reckoned with. This time around, Jim thought he had something to ease her mind.

"Okay, actually, I did meet someone else," Jim announced. "And we had a first date just last night."

"Now, that's pleasant to hear." Relief returned to her speech pattern. "Where did you two meet."

"Uh, at work," Jim answered and bit his lip.

"Really," was Estelle's drawn out answer.

"Her name is Chris Sanchez, and she's very special."

"So will you be seeing her again?"

"I...don't know."

"Why wouldn't you know, Son?"

"Like I said, we work together. Plus, she has a child," Jim listed.

"She's very special, but you just gave me two excuses to not see her again," With her voice once again devoid of ease, Estelle Street purposely sent him on a guilt trip. "You sound a bit confused. Would you care to speak to your father about this?"

"NO! No, that's okay! Let Daid* sleep, or eat, or whatever he's doing at the moment," he said, fumbling with his shirt and the phone receiver. "Can we please talk about this when I have time, Mam? Today we're breaking in a new guy, and Hondo won't take tardiness well."

Estelle chuckled some over the line. "Tá sé ceart go leor a mhic*, Jimmy."

"Thank you," he noted. "Love ya, Mam."

"Love you too, sweetie," his mother answered with sincerity. Her end clicked off and Jim hung up.

"And this guy better not become a scumbag like T.J. was," Jim uttered.

(*denotes Gaelic-Irish words)


End file.
